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Fall of the Birch
"Beat it, street rat," snarled the stray. He shoved Birch down hard with his shoulder. "This food is mine." Birch quivered and shook like he always did. He didn't dare open his mouth to make a mew, but a slight whimper came from his throat. "I said beat it!" the larger cat barked, unsheathing his claws. Birch flashed onto all four paws and sprinted out of the alley, tail tucked between his legs. Birch knew his way around the tangled Twolegplace streets as well as any stray should. Sometimes he would pass the Twoleg dens and peer inside their windows. Occasionally he would see a fat housecat reclining on the floor, looking well groomed and comfortable. Birch picked his way down the streets, slinking into shadows and keeping a safe distance from Twolegs and their big clomping paws. Every time he passed another cat, the creature would stare at him in shock, then flatten their ears and hiss at him. It had always been this way, hadn't it? Birch did have fur, he knew it, but to the rest of the world...he was hairless. Rat, they called him. Quivering, whimpering, hairless rat. "Celia," he mewed when he found his sister at last, "I am going to run away." Celia looked appalled at this information, the slight bit of fur on her own back rippling in alarm. "Birch, where would you go? We promised Mama we would stick together forever." "I know," Birch apologized, giving his sister a nuzzle, "but I'm going to run away. Here everyone hisses at me. Fights me," he added, flicking his tattered right ear. "Where would you go?" Celia asked again, pressing her nearly-hairless body against his. Birch didn't know at first, but hardly a moment passed before it came to him. "I'm going to join Whitefeather's rogues." Rogues. Everyone called them that. Everyone had to, for some reason or other. Whitefeather was well known throughout the Twolegplace, and though Birch had never seen a glimpse of her (nor did he want to! The thought of it made him shiver) Birch slowly began to realize the truth of what he said. "That's where I belong. If everyone is going to stare at me, fight me, hate me...then it's going to be for the right reasons." He expected Celia to understand. Even though she wasn't picked on nearly as much as him, she would understand! But her eyes only hardened and turned into narrow slits. Then she gave him a shove. Not a hard shove, but a strong enough one to send him stumbling back a few paces. "Then get out. There are two types of cats on these streets: the rogues, and those who hate them. I thought I knew you, Birch. But now you're changing sides. What happened to you?" A flash of emotions in her eyes: hurt, betrayal, anger, compassion, fear, loneliness, shock, more anger-all rolled into one. "You're not my brother." "Celia!" Birch cried as his sister shot away down the alley, "wait!" She didn't wait. She didn't turn. She just vanished into the shadows. Her disappearance crushed Birch's heart. This wasn't supposed to happen. "Celia!" But once he realized there was not going to be an answer, he trudged off to find some rogues. They were easy to find, actually, if you knew where to look. Whitefeather, the leader of the rogues, seemed to control everything around the Twolegplace. There were few loners and strays that didn't belong under her command. Those few kept well out of her way, never drawing attention to themselves and trying to live quietly and anonymously. Birch had wandered the streets, feeling loneliness drag on his paws, when he caught sight of the first rogue. It was a quick little she-cat, almost as well known throughout the Twolegplace as Whitefeather herself, dressed in black and white patched fur. She was running alongside a second cat, this one brown-furred and undersized, and behind them, Birch could see a huge dog. Its slobbering jaws snapped at their heels, its eyes blazing. The pair of little cats was staying just a tail-length ahead of it. Birch couldn't move. He could only watch in horrified fascination at the elegant movements of the little she-cat. With a nod at her companion, the pair split off in completely different directions. The fierce dog faltered for only a moment before sprinting after the she-cat. Tick, that was her name, Birch remembered. The brown tom slowed his sprint to a trot, and that was when he caught sight of Birch watching him. The sphinx cat expected the other to flinch away as he caught sight of his hairless, slightly scarred pelt, but instead the tom's eyes lit up, and he hurried forward. "Hello!" he chirped pleasantly, tail waving in the air behind him. "I know you," Birch mewed slowly, trying to remember the stories of the rogues. "You're that little guy...Ed...Ek..Ex, that's it. You're X." X beamed at the sound of his own name. "Me that is," he agreed. He scrutinized the larger cat carefully. "Lost, you are?" "I'm looking for the rogues. I'm...I'm going to join them." X seemed both surprised, and maybe a little bit pleased at this explanation. "With me come, if you want," he meowed, "To Whitefeather I will take you." And he led the way. "W-Whitefeather," the young tom mewed shakily, creeping forward, "there's a cat here to see you." Whitefeather continued to lick her paws, showing no sign that she'd heard, but her one blue eye stared down at Zag. "Who is it?" she demanded, tucking her paws up under her. "N-new recruit," replied the tom. His black coat, flecked with specks of ginger, rippled uneasily. "Shall I b-b-bring him in?" "Oh, do." Whitefeather flicked her tail and turned her head away. Zag bowed low enough for his whiskers to brush the ground before backing away. "I wonder who that could be," mused Molenose. The tabby sat perched on a stack of crates beside Whitefeather. One of his eyes was swollen shut with scars etched across the top. In a way, Whitefeather rather liked those scars. They reminded her of herself, and the scars across her own face. A shuffling noise. Whitefeather didn't turn to look at the approaching cat, but she could tell that Zag was urging him forward. It was definitely a him, from the fear-scent pulsing off his pelt. "Who might you be?" she asked, turning forward. And that was when she had to stop and stare. She's just like all the others. Birch couldn't help but feel bitter anger rising up inside him. Look at her. Half her face ripped and scarred. And that Molenose is no better. The least she could do is not gawk at me like that. I'm sure she's used to others flinching away at her scars. So why would I, with my wrinkled and nearly hairless body, be such a novelty to her? Molenose let out a choking mrrow. Then another. It took Birch a moment to realize that the tabby was laughing at him. "That's not a cat! It doesn't have any fur! What is it, a rat? Oh, it's a Twoleg! A little ugly Twoleg with its hairless-''oww''!" The oww was from Whitefeather swatting him across the face with the back of her own paw. "Be silent," she snarled, then turned back to face Birch. "I must admit, I was expecting better when I heard there was a cat brave enough to seek audience with me. And who exactly are you?" Birch's anger was draining away. It was starting to occur to him just how much danger he was in, mere fox-lengths, no, tail-lengths away from Whitefeather. He flattened himself to the ground, quivering. "I am Birch the meek. I seek place among your rogues." Whitefeather's jaws gaped in a yawn as she stretched out her forepaws. Birch supposed she wasn't impressed with him. But then she meowed, "Molenose, take him to his quarters." "With pleasure, Whitefeather," the tabby answered, but his whiskers were twitching with annoyance. He leaped down from his crates, which miraculously did not fall on top of him as he did. "Come on, rat. Let's go meet your alleymates." Birch bowed at Molenose as the rogue bounded past him. As soon as they were out of Whitefeather's line of sight, the tabby rounded on him. "I don't know who you think you are," he hissed, backing Birch against a den wall, "but you can stop sucking up to Whitefeather like that. She only has room for one apprentice, and that's me." Molenose shoved Birch, butting him with his head, swatting him with his paws before drawing back. "What kind of name is Birch anyway?" "It's a-" the sphinx cat began, "Tree," Molenose mewed flatly. "I know." He looked the smaller cat up and down with his one blue eye. "You'll answer to Imp now. That's what you are. A weak, worthless imp." Molenose drew even closer, and Birch wanted to melt into the wall behind him. "There are many different units among out rogues. First unit belongs to Whitefeather, of course. The second is led by my father, Janus. But Whitefeather gave me one too. I'm taking you to that alley now. But remember-you answer to me first. I am your leader, even if Whitefeather is in charge of me." Birch gave a trembling nod. He didn't like the way Molenose was glaring at him. It was making him shaky all over again. Stupid quivers! "And one more thing,'' Imp''." Molenose took another step closer. So close that his nose was almost touching Birch's. "As a member of my unit, you are under my command. As a sign of your loyalty-" He didn't even finish his sentence. Before Birch knew what was happening, Molenose's teeth were buried in his ear. Birch yowled in pain as the flesh of his ear tore beneath the tabby's teeth. It was bleeding, he knew. Bleeding, and torn for good. "You belong to me now," Molenose growled, turning away. "Now come along, Imp." Birch remained pressed against the wall, shaking slightly, feeling blood drip from the place his ear had been torn. Celia had been right. There was a reason the rogues were hated and feared by the other strays throughout the Twolegplace. But Birch's decision had already been made. As he quivered against the wall, he let his eyes go narrow and bore into the back of Molenose's head. The tabby was right. He was no longer a mere streetcat. He was no longer Birch. He let his claws stretch out as he forced himself to stop shaking. He wasn't Birch. Never Birch. He was a rogue. A'' rogue''! In fact, the sphinx cat reflected, flexing his claws, he was Imp. Category:Warriors Fanfiction Category:Short-Stories